


I Can't Care About Anything (But You)

by cloverfield



Category: Shiritsu Horitsuba Gakuen, Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shiritsu Horitsuba Gakuen, Fai's Not The Only Dramatic Bitch In This Relationship Apparently, I Love You Meme, M/M, Mutual Idiocy, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Office Romance, Staff Meeting Melodrama, Teacher-Teacher relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: I Love You meme: loud, so everyone can hearThere’s so much Kurogane could say but won’t, so much Kurogane wants to say but can’t, and somewhere in his head the wires cross, because his jaw clicks open and his breath stutters, and the words come out in a helpless tumble before they can be bitten back.
Relationships: Fay D. Fluorite/Kurogane
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	I Can't Care About Anything (But You)

**Author's Note:**

> Who said Horitsuba can't be angsty?

It’s been two hours since Kurogane tendered his resignation, and Ichihara still hasn’t said anything — not that he expected much by way of acknowledgement, but anything would have been better than the read receipt he received eleven minutes after sending it.

Four years at Horitsuba Academy, undone in the three minutes it took to type two sentences. One email, and Kurogane can feel his teeth cracking as they grind. His knuckles are tight and aching where his hands wrap around his teacup, and the cheerful drone of conversation as the staff meeting dawdles to a close isn’t enough to drown out the pulse thudding in his ears.

“—which we should find in the report from the council,” says Ichihara, twirling her pen between her fingers. It’s sure as hell not _coffee_ in her World’s Best Teacher mug, but she takes a swig regardless. “And I think that brings it to a wrap for this morning, unless anyone else has any late announcements…?”

Mihara, taking the minutes by the door — and the conspicuously empty seat next to her — flicks through the agenda again, and smiles. “There’s no late submissions here, chairwoman. Though it falls to me again to remind everyone that the Robotics Club expects a good turnout of support for next week’s school festival — I’ll be taking attendance.” The smile is kind, but the glint in her eyes suggests she’s not kidding around, and the laughter from the table knows it.

Kurogane’s hands are shaking. Just a little, but it’s still _enough_ , and his teacup clatters a little where he sets it down, scattering loose a few droplets across the back of his fingers, stinging and hot. The seat next to Mihara is still empty, and his head is still full, white noise that spits and roars.

“Right,” and the slap of Yuuko’s hand on the table claps loud across the chatter. “Show’s over, meeting’s done, I move to close the weekly—”

The door opens in the same moment Kurogane stands, his chair scraping back and the handle of the door rattling in clattering counterpoint, and the smack of the metal handle bouncing off the brick of the wall isn’t enough to stop the words that have been waiting, _waiting_ on the tip of his tongue — the words that tumble out into the silence in the same moment Fai tumbles into the room.

“I quit,” says Kurogane, and does not look away from the crease of Yuuko’s frown even as blue eyes try and catch his own.

“I quit,” he says again, the words scraped and rough, and Fai’s satchel hits the ground in a scatter of loose paper and a clatter of pens, the soles of Fai’s shoes squeaking as he stumbles to a stop.

Kurogane doesn’t look at him, or the nine staring faces the line the long side of the staff table. “You read my email. I resign.”

Yuuko’s frown falls away, her face still. “Yes. I had hoped to persuade you otherwise — I don’t wish to accept it, Kurogane-sensei.” Slowly, her gaze slides away, and she almost sighs when she turns to the man - thin and fair and foreign, a thorn in Kurogane’s side from the moment they met - standing in shock in the still-open doorway. “Fai-sensei. Thank you for joining us.”

“Kuro-ta— Kurogane-sensei?”

It’s been three days since he last looked Fai in the eye, three days and it’s still just like it was the first time they met three years ago: the same swoop in his gut, the same tremble in his hands, the same disbelief that anyone’s eyes could be so damn _blue_. Of course, the first time the idiot ruined any chance of a good impression he might have made just by opening his mouth, and it’s almost the same now, because _Kurogane-sensei_ hurts just as much as it did the first time he heard it — three days ago — just as much as Kurogane used to think he wanted to hear it.

“You’re… leaving?” Fai sounds lost.

It figures the one time he was counting on Fai being late enough to miss the whole meeting that he actually gets himself into gear to show up at the last minute.

Kurogane swallows.

“Kurogane-sensei has tendered his resignation, effective immediately, as of this morning,” says Yuuko calmly. “He has not seen fit to give a reason as to why, but I am sure it was a decision made after long and careful consideration.”

More like after three bottles of shochu and a blinding hangover, a twist in his stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the sucker-punch kiss of Fai’s mouth, wet-hot and hungry; everything to do with the trembling drag-and-cling of lip to lip and the heat of his breath, sucked gasping from between Kurogane’s teeth; everything to do with the shudder that shook his shoulders, the press of his body as he swayed close—

—and then the shock in blue eyes when the thin hands knotted in the lapels of his coat had shaken open to land hard on Kurogane’s chest and shove him away hard enough his back hit the wall.

“Why?” The _ache_ in the word makes Kurogane’s lip curl.

_Because you kissed me and then when I kissed you back you pushed me away. Because you wouldn’t answer when I called you. Because when I knocked on your door on Sunday you pretended you weren’t home. Because you were my friend and now you won’t even look at me. Because not once in three years have you ever called me by my name and now in three days you’ve done it twice and I can’t do this anymore._

There’s so much Kurogane could say but won’t, so much Kurogane wants to say but can’t, and somewhere in his head the wires cross, because his jaw clicks open and his breath stutters, and the words come out in a helpless tumble before they can be bitten back.

“I love you.”

Someone drops their coffee cup, the sound wet and shattering on the staff room floor. “I love you,” says Kurogane, again, firmer this time. Fai sways, leaning heavy against the doorway, and his eyes are wide and blue and fixed to burn on Kurogane’s face. “I have for years,” continues Kurogane, because he’s already taken the leap — he might as fucking well _keep going_. “Wanted to tell you but you stopped talking to me after you kissed me and that was answer enough.”

“Well, this is _clearly_ a private conversation,” says Yuuko, clapping her hands together, and maybe she sounds shocked or maybe she sounds cheerful but she mostly sounds like she’s speaking from the bottom of a well, slow to filter through the roaring in Kurogane’s ears and he can’t look away now, not that Fai is finally looking back, so he doesn’t. And when Yuuko stops talking it’s only because Fai has stepped forward and everyone else is walking past him – Monou with both thumbs up and a grin, the bastard – but then the door closes and the staff room is empty of everything but the mess they’ve made of themselves.

“You love me,” says Fai, and _oh_. He sounds like he hasn’t slept in days, the edge of grit roughening his voice into something husked and hurt.

“Idiot. I already said that.” It snaps out before he can stop it, but maybe it’s better that it did, because Fai barks a laugh, covering his face with one skinny hand and the gleam of blue eyes winking wet between his fingers. “I’m not saying it again,” Kurogane growls, and if his chest swells with a staggered breath taken too quick, well, what of it.

“Kuro-chan-sensei is _such_ a romantic,” he whispers, and the knot in Kurogane’s gut unravels just like that. “But I—I thought that you didn’t—” Fai swallows.

“You were the one that pushed me away,” and maybe Kurogane has underestimated how much of a self-doubting idiot Fai really is, because he _still_ looks unsure. “Come here.”

“I can’t—”

“Come here,” says Kurogane again, and Fai takes two steps forward, staggering past the empty chair he should have been in for the meeting, and then stops again.

“You should know,” Fai says slowly, and his voice is husking again, “that I ruin everything I touch. I’ve never— I’m not a good person to fall in love with, Kuro-sama.” The fall of his fringe tumbles tattered over his eyes, chin dipping down, and that’s exactly the kind of thing Kurogane was expecting: not a _no, I don’t want to_ but a _we really shouldn’t_ , and Kurogane hasn’t let anyone else make a decision on his behalf for years. “You’re going to regret it, in the end,” he sighs.

“I already told you I loved you in front of the whole damn staff room, and I don’t regret _that_ , so you can just shut up.” He probably will later, if Ichihara feels like making an example of him, but that’s a bridge to burn when it comes to it, and Kurogane doesn’t do regret anyway. What’s done can’t be undone, so no point worrying about it. “Get over here already, would you?” It feels like Kurogane’s talking through sand, throat tight and breath heaving.

This time when Fai laughs he looks up, and he takes more than two steps forward – takes another and another, shoves a chair out of his way with a nudge of his foot, and comes up short just a breath away from where Kurogane stands. “You really—?” He swallows, tips his chin back, the length of his throat rolling and blue eyes still soft, still wet.

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” grits out Kurogane, and loses his breath and anything else he might have said when Fai jerks forward, arms crashing around his chest like a vice, squeezing and desperate. “ _Idiot_ ,” sighs Kurogane, and drops his head down, the word a whisper into the tangle of fair hair tucked beneath his chin. Of course he squeezes back, _of_ _course_ he does, and when Kurogane’s knees buckle to dump him on his arse in his chair, Fai comes tumbling into his lap.

“I’m not sure I—” Fai shudders, hands clutching and tight. “I want to—” He shudders again, falls silent, the drag of his mouth as he gasps a breath soft and damp against the hollow of Kurogane’s throat. “I—”

“Shut up before you hurt yourself,” mutters Kurogane, and Fai’s hand knots into his jacket as he wriggles closer, warm and heavy and _here_ , where he isn’t likely to be moved if Kurogane has his way. “Doesn’t matter. You can tell me later.”

He knows what Fai was trying to say and it can wait. It’s not like he doesn’t _know_ , anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I'm just saying that Fai is an absolute melodramatic fool in every universe, and sometimes Kurogane wants his turn.
> 
> (Yuuko was not anticipating her refusal of Kurogane's resignation to end this way, but, well, Suwano-sensei is a promising teacher and she's never been one to discourage the seeds of romance no matter where they blossom.)


End file.
